The Significance of the Number Three
by Twinings
Summary: After all these years, his girls could still surprise him...[CAT]


Disclaimer: I don't own DC or any Batman characters. CAT is my baby, though, or at least I have joint custody. This fic is not on the timeline yet, but it takes place in March, 2015. Enjoy!

* * *

They burst into his room at an ungodly hour, singing something to the tune of "Happy Birthday." He pulled the covers up over his head and tried to shut out the noise by squeezing the pillow around his ears.

"Wake up, you! We have cake!"

"Go away," he mumbled. There were three solid thumps as they threw themselves down on the bed.

"Cake, I say!"

"Go _away_."

"Oh, Squishykins. You're a poet and you don't know it!"

He shifted around just enough to glare at them with one eye, keeping the rest of him safely ensconced underneath the blanket. Actually, the only one he could see that way was Techie, but he could feel the other two on either side. And she was probably more reasonable than they were. At least, he could tell himself so.

"Go. Away."

"We can't," said Techie. "Not until you open your presents. It's a rule."

"Not my birthday," he muttered, and turned his face back to the pillow.

"They're not birthday presents," Al said with a giggle. He didn't respond, so she poked him.

Infuriated, he threw off the covers and kicked out at her as he snarled, "_Must_ you continuously poke and—"

She grinned.

He stared at her.

He blinked.

He blinked again.

Then he inhaled a large quantity of saliva and found himself dumped unceremoniously into a violent coughing fit. The girls lost their predatory grins and dropped their catlike poses to cluster around him, holding him up and patting him on the back. He flinched from the touch of soft black leather.

"Squish? Are you okay?" the Captain asked, as if she didn't realize she was dressed in a—rather abbreviated—version of Catwoman's costume. He tried to push her away, only to have the other two move even closer, various body parts pressing against him in ways he was not at all comfortable with.

"Wh—wha—what the blue _blazes_ is going on here?" he demanded.

Al grinned again.

"Happy anniversary, Squishy."

"Don't call me _Squishy_! And what do you mean, 'happy anniversary'?"

The girls all contrived to look disappointed in him.

"Don't you remember? Three years ago today…"

"On a beach in Florida…"

"You decided…"

"Yes, all right," he groaned. "I made a terrible mistake, and I wish you'd let me forget it. Believe me, it won't happen again. But…the costumes?"

They all giggled.

"The third anniversary is the _leather_ anniversary."

He closed his eyes and pressed his hand to his temple, hoping to stave off the beginnings of a headache.

"We're not _married_, you know."

"Of course not. That wouldn't be legal. Except in Utah.

"It's not legal in Utah!" Techie argued. He opened his eyes and felt one eyebrow creep upward ever so slightly as Al and Techie debated polygamy laws and Mormonism. They weren't usually _this_ easily distracted.

Frowning, the Captain adjusted her low-cut top, raising it to a more demure level and making things—bounce—

He looked away.

Techie and Al broke off their conversation to giggle at him again.

"We're sorry," Al said, sounding quite the opposite. "Why don't you eat some cake, and then we'll leave you alone. You get your beauty sleep, sweetums," she said patronizingly. He glared at something safe—the floor.

"I do _not_ want your cake."

"Aw, and after we worked so hard on it, too." Techie slunk toward him on all fours. He lifted a hand to his eyes to block his own view. "Al worked her fingers to the bone."

"I _definitely_ don't want Al's cake."

Al purred at him, and nudged his shoulder with the top of her head. He went rigid.

"Okay," the Captain said brusquely after a few more moments of purring. "That's enough. Leave the Squishy one alone."

"I'm not Squishy," he protested. She chuckled.

"Well, we could stay and cuddle if—"

"Get out!"

Giggling, they ran for the door.

"We'll just leave that cake on your desk," the Captain called from the safety of the hallway, before she shut the door behind them.

They seemed to be unaware that he could still hear their conversation through the closed door.

"Well, that was fun!" Techie laughed. "Now what are we going to do?"

"Well…" said Al.

"Well, what?"

"I wonder if Eddums remembers these costumes?"

They all giggled.

"We should go play with him! It may not be an anniversary, but I'm sure we can find something to celebrate."

"As long as we get to come back and play with Squishums when he's in a better mood. He's not getting off scot free on our special day."

More giggles.

"Of course. Wouldn't miss it."

The voices started to recede. Grumbling, he made his way back under the covers, hoping he'd be able to snatch another hour or two of sleep before they came back to make his life a living hell again. Thought they could _play_ with him, did they, like some kind of…catnip-filled mouse…

Leather anniversary, indeed.

He just hoped they could differentiate between leather and bondage.

Although the last snatch of conversation to reach his ears didn't give him much hope.

"You know, if you really wanted to scare him, you could have brought the whip out first thing…"


End file.
